


Once Upon A Time

by JacksMedullaOblongata



Category: Fight Club (1999)
Genre: M/M, au where fight club doesn't exist (tyler is making soap and bombs on his own), au where tyler is real
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacksMedullaOblongata/pseuds/JacksMedullaOblongata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, there was a man. His name? </p><p>Tyler Durden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon A Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is my favorite movie. If you haven't watched it, why are you here?!
> 
> Also 3k+ words on this 1st chapter alone O_O

Once upon a time, there was a man. His name? 

_Tyler Durden._

A smooth talking, sharp, hard-hitting son of a bitch. He owned my life- no, he owned me. I thought about him more than I thought about myself. All my hours, day and night, were spent with him. At day, we’d be roaming the streets, going places, just normal stuff. Night was different. At night, the darker sides came out to play. We’d go to bars, start fights, or just get drunk and break stuff. 

These nights, Tyler was different. Gone was the easy smile and the rebellious glint in his eye. It was replaced by a hardness, a tightness of his face, like something was missing. He’d spend nights poring over paper sheets, buckets of fat boiling, concentrating on making what he did best. Soap. 

He’d ignore my questions about why he spent so long down in the basement, making this soap. He’d always brush me away with a “not now, I’m busy,” or a “mind your own business”. Once, I even got a “fuck off”, like he was pissed at me for simply wondering where he was. So nights were pretty lonely. I’d lie in my room, hoping to hear footsteps, for him to come back upstairs and talk to me. 

But no. From midnight until six am, he’d be making soap, and I’d be lying in my bed wishing for company. I still couldn’t sleep. 

Marla hung around sometimes. She’d just … be there. Now and again, I’d catch glimpses of her around the house, either making coffee or walking past my room. We never spoke. I think she missed the old Tyler. The one who actually paid attention to her. To us. 

He’d changed a lot. I never asked during the day. It risked ruining his good moods, as those were pretty rare now. Even catching him off guard didn’t work. So I’d wait until night, catch him before he went downstairs, and say, “Tyler, you’ve changed.” 

And he’d say, “I don’t give a rat’s ass,” and keep on walking, pushing past me if he had to. 

Some nights, on rare occasions, he would go down earlier, maybe at six pm, and come back at midnight. I’d be lying there in my bed, unable to sleep, and then the door would open. I’d lift my head, see him come into the room. Most of the time, he just sat by my bed and we talked. 

Mornings were fairly routine. Marla happened to be around for some. Mostly, she wasn’t. It was just me and Tyler. I’d be half asleep making coffee and he'd sneak up behind me, wrap his arms around my waist, ask me if I slept well, his voice teasing in my ear. Nine times out of ten, I’d bury my elbow in his pink-fuzzy-bathrobe clad chest and he’d laugh. Occasionally, I’d stay quiet and let him stand there, his front pressed against my back, as he watched me make coffee. Silence as comfortable as a glove. 

That was the old Tyler. That was the Tyler that I thought of when I was alone. 

This was the Tyler that both Marla and I missed. 

Today was different, though. We ate at a crappy diner, as usual. We got back to our house late, as usual. But then Tyler didn’t go. He didn’t walk away downstairs in silence as usual. He talked to me. He asked, “Did you want to watch a movie?” 

You can imagine my surprise. I turned and looked at him, and he laughed at my expression. 

“Come on,” he said, “let’s go. I have a heist flick you might like.” 

We watched it on our small TV, Tyler sitting on a chair and me sitting on a couch. Turns out, this ‘heist flick’ was this movie called Reservoir Dogs. It was less heist-centric and more aftermath-centric. No, make that less heist-centric and more two-guys-bleeding-a-lot-centric. It wasn’t bad, though. Being a projectionist, Tyler got to see all sorts of movies, and he had pretty good taste. When the movie ended at one am, the room was completely dark. I could feel Tyler’s gaze on me. Looking across, I only saw the slightest glint of his eyes. 

“What?” I asked. He held out his hand without a word, offering a bottle. I took it and bit off the cap. On separate seats, we drank quietly, no words needed. Three bottles later, I tilted my head back, closing my eyes. I heard movement and then warmth was next to me, pressing in close against my side. I opened my eyes but it was too dark to see. Tyler was breathing by my ear. I could smell smoke, saw the orange spark of a cigarette. 

I am Jack’s pounding heart. 

I am Jack’s dry mouth. 

I am everything that makes Jack want. 

Tyler stretched out, feet up, and pulled me so that my head rested on his lap. He ran his fingers through my hair. Eyes open or closed, it didn’t matter now. This was peace, true peace. I wondered if anyone else had ever done this before. Lay with him. It wasn’t intimate as such … it was more what I needed than what both of us needed. I thought about Marla and for some reason, picturing her hurt my head. I imagined Tyler instead, as it was too dark to see him. 

Lopsided smile. 

Amused eyes. 

Rough hands, fingernails short and bitten, a trait you wouldn’t expect from him. 

I felt those fingernails gently scraping my scalp but not hard enough to hurt. I could almost sense him smiling. Not long later, his hands stilled. I opened my eyes, which had adjusted to the dark, and noticed his eyes were closed. Tyler’s head flopped forwards and he breathed slowly. I sighed. If only I could sleep too. 

Oddly enough, my eyelids were drooping and I felt sleepy. Maybe it was because I was relaxed for once. I fell asleep with Tyler soon. 

*

“Hey.” 

I was tired. I could see sunlight through my eyelids but I didn’t want to wake up. The voice continued. 

“Oi. Cornelius. Travis. Rupert.” 

I opened my eyes. I was sprawled on my front. Lifting my head, I saw a familiar black coat and messy hair. Marla stared down at me with a raised eyebrow. 

“You want to explain this?” she asked dryly, gesturing at me. I turned my head and saw that I was still lying on Tyler’s lap. I scrambled up to get off him and in the process, I thumped the heel of my hand right into his-

“Son of a bitch!” Tyler yelled, eyes flying open. His fist flew out instinctively and I fell off the couch, pushed in the chest. I rolled half a meter and Marla just stepped over me. She bent and blew smoke into my face to stop me being dazed. 

“What the fuck?” Tyler hissed at me, doubled over. Marla snorted before she helped me up. I looked across to Tyler. 

“Sorry.” 

“Sorry?” he asked in a choked laugh. “You just crushed my goddamn ba-”

“Oh, boohoo,” Marla interrupted, rolling her eyes. Both Tyler and I looked at her. 

“Why are you even here?” I asked. She glared at me before grabbing her bag off from the couch, where Tyler and I had been asleep. It was slightly flat. 

“Left my bag here last time. You two assholes were lying on it,” she snapped before walking out, slamming the front door behind her. After a few seconds, Tyler looked at me, his pain seemingly gone. His face twisted into a grin before he shrugged off his jacket. As I watched, confused, he pulled off his tank top too. 

“Um. Tyler. What are you doing?” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said, smirking at me. He held his hands up in fists. “Come on. Fight me.” 

“What?” 

“Fight me. I’m pissed because of what you did. I want to beat your ass.” 

I nodded. He was never very social during the day, and was never around during the night. I had to make use of this new Tyler before he went away again. Before I was even ready, he threw a punch at my face. My head cracked back and I stumbled into the television. 

“Don’t break the television!” Tyler shouted, grabbing me by my arm and twisting so I fell onto the floor. I reacted quickly so he couldn’t hit me again; I crouched before grabbing his knees, tackling him onto the ground next to me. I practically landed on him and he laughed by my ear, the sound infectious. He pulled me off by my hair. 

“Fuck!” I yelled, trying to get his hand off. I barely straightened up before his fist hit my jaw, knocking me sideways. I fell through the doorway and he followed. We ended up crashing into the kitchen, where he tried to grab me by holding onto the back of my shirt. I wriggled free, leaving him holding only material. Tyler grinned. 

“Nice try!” he said, before pushing me. I fell back, which wouldn’t have been a problem if there hadn’t been a pair of scissors Tyler left on the side. I felt the sharp pain in my back and cried out before falling, my head hitting the countertop. Tyler seemed to notice something was wrong and stopped. He quickly crouched and grabbed my arm. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, sounding slightly worried. I couldn’t see straight, my vision blurring around the edges. Waves of pain were wracking my body and I felt Tyler’s hands on me, holding me down. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, lowering me gently onto my side. I let out a short half-cry, half-sob noise as he found the scissors. Tyler spoke carefully to calm me down. “Hey, it isn’t that deep. If you stay still, it won’t bleed as bad.” 

My fists and teeth were clenched so tightly it hurt, but that couldn’t stop the agony ripping through my spine. Tyler said, “I’m going to pull out the scissors,” but I barely heard him over the roar of blood in my ears. Everything suddenly went silent and my vision went white as pain lanced through my back, before everything dimmed to almost black, like it was night. All I wanted was to pass out but my body wasn’t letting me. I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt my shirt balled against my back, pressed against the wound. Tyler held it there with one hand whilst holding me still with the other. I held onto his wrist to focus on something else, so tight that it must have been hurting him, but he didn’t let go. It felt as if I had been stabbed by a knife. 

“I-is it bad?” I stammered. Tyler chuckled. 

“Nah. You’ll be okay.” 

He picked me up and I groaned, my back jarring. I was carried back to the couch, where he laid me on my side. Tyler used a belt to tie the shirt to my back before he picked up his jacket and folded it under my head. Leaving me there, he went to the phone. I could hear him speaking to someone but the ringing in my ears was too loud. I buried my face in the jacket. It smelled of soap and sweat. Regardless, it was Tyler’s musk, so I didn’t move my head. 

I opened my eyes a short while later at the sound of high heels. Marla was stood in the doorway with Tyler. They were talking softly and I strained my ears. 

“What happened?” she was whispering. 

“We were fighting. He fell onto scissors,” Tyler replied, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think it’s that bad but we can’t take him to a hospital. They could think I stabbed him. They wouldn’t believe me.” 

“What makes you think I will?” 

“Do you really think I’d stab him, of all people?” Tyler asked in a strained whisper. 

“So you really…?” Marla began but then they saw I was awake and stopped. 

“Really what?” I asked but she shook her head. Tyler smiled slightly. 

“You’re awake. That’s good. Means you ain’t dead.” 

Both he and Marla approached me. She noticed how I was holding onto Tyler’s jacket and I let go. He made no move to reclaim it. 

They helped me into a sitting position and peeled the shirt away from my back. Marla raised her eyebrows at the sight. 

“Well, it’s not too bad. Might need stitches- which I am not doing. Take care of your own boyfriend.” 

“Then why did I even bring you?” Tyler asked. He didn’t comment on what she said. Marla dug in her pockets and handed him a small container of pills. Painkillers. Then she left us. I watched as Tyler approached me with a needle and thread. I flinched away from him. 

“Come on. It’s okay,” he said in a reassuring tone. After a minute, I closed my eyes and nodded. His hands carefully rolled me onto my front, exposing my back. I sucked in air through my teeth. He placed one hand just above the wound, between my shoulder blades, and rested the side of his other hand by the wound. 

“Bite my jacket if you have to,” he said shortly before threading the needle. Tyler leaned on me and looked at me. He said, “Ready?” and I nodded. 

Sharp prick. 

The pain of a thread dragging through my skin. 

Whimpering, clenching my fists. 

Tyler’s voice, soft and reassuring, talking to me through the haze of pain as he stitched me up. 

“Look, you’re fine. I bet the initial stab was worse than this. You can power through this for me, can’t you?” 

When I didn’t speak, he tapped my back. “Hey. Talk to me. Distract yourself.” 

“This hurts more than the fucking lye burn,” I growled. He chuckled as he continued stitching slowly. I turned my head so I could see him out of the corner of my eye. “What did Marla mean?” 

“Hm?” He didn’t look at me, concentrating on the stitches. 

“What did she mean when she was talking to you? When she said you should take care of me?” 

“What, when she said you were my guy?” 

“I guess, yeah.” 

“What else do you think she meant?” 

“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell if …”

“If what? If she was sarcastic or serious? That’s all you pick up?” 

I would have shrugged if I could have. I felt his breath on my skin as he bent over and bit off the thread. Then he pressed a bandage over the wound, sticking it down. 

“There. Nice and secure. But I am not letting you walk, you might ruin the stitches. You’re gonna stay with me at all times.” 

“So how am I supposed to get around?” I asked. To answer my question, Tyler scooped me up using his arms, laughing at my surprised yelp. Apparently he wanted a bath because he walked upstairs, ignoring my protests. I was sat in a chair and he threw his jacket at me again. 

“No looking, Peeping Tom,” he ordered. I kept the jacket over my face and I could hear the water running. 

That water. It looked stinking and brown, but it was all we had. It was what we drank and washed with. 

I tried not to hear Tyler’s clothes hitting the floor. 

After a few minutes, the jacket was pulled off my face. He was in the tub, reaching out with his arm. He dumped it on the pile of clothes before stretching out. He pointed at his jacket again. 

“Hey, could you grab me my pack?” he asked. It hurt to move my back so I dragged it towards me with my foot. Reaching down, I found the pack and pulled out a cigarette. 

“Light it up, will ya?” he added. Sighing, I rummaged around and found the lighter. 

Open lips. In goes the cigarette. Flick. Flick. Couple of drags, get it going. Cigarette out. Mouth closed. Hand it to Tyler. 

Common routine. 

Tyler doesn’t ever thank me. It’s fairly normal. I’m not used to being thanked anyway. 

I closed my eyes and all I could hear was my own breathing and the water now and again, moving as Tyler washed. I imagined it was a body of water somewhere. We could be at a beach, or a lake, or even a canal. Tyler would be smoking, flicking his ashes into the water despite rules against it. Our rules, he kept. Others? Didn’t cross in his mind. 

I’d be looking down into the water. Past my reflection. Into the depths, where fish or sharks were, wondering how I could even be with this man. He was one of those people that got stares on the street, with his too-short shirts and spiked hair and nonchalant swagger, his cigarette hanging from a crooked smile, with those crooked lips that spilled crooked words. We’d be outside and he’d just draw attention, no matter what. He was just so extravagant, so _different_. His imperfections were what made him the perfect friend. 

My eyes opened and traveled across to him automatically. He was lying back with a soaked shirt over his face, cigarette dangling from two fingers over the side of the tub. I watched for a long time. Time means something completely different with Tyler. It used to be that one minute, it’d be day, then the next, it’d be evening and I’d have no idea where it went. Now, it’s like I’m always awake and aware of time. 

I watched him for ten minutes, the only movement happening when he moved his arm to his mouth to take a drag of his cigarette. Eventually, he sat up, water sloshing, and I thought, _beach_ , before he pulled the shirt off his face and flicked his cigarette into the water, putting it out. My eyes were shut again to give him privacy. 

“You know, it’s not like I haven’t seen you,” I said, half joking and half serious, after some silence. I could hear the material of his shirt as he pulled it over his head. I continued. “I mean, all the times you’ve messed with the food at that-”

“Shut up,” Tyler said. I felt something hit the jacket where my nose was beneath. It hurt, but the pain left when the jacket was lifted and I could see Tyler again. I blinked at the light and the disappearance of leather. His hair was more spiked than usual, brushed up by water. He patted my arm. 

“Come on, champ, let’s get you up,” he said. He put aside the old metal shower ring that he’d thrown at me, before picking me up again. He didn’t even strain. When I asked how he could pick me up so easily, he just laughed and said, “Man, come on, you’re a beansprout.” 

“I’m taller than you,” I replied dryly. He sniggered. 

“Hey,” Tyler interrupted, “I have muscles. You don’t.” 

I rolled my eyes. I heard him mutter “beansprout” again but I couldn’t be bothered to complain. He sat me at the kitchen table and shrugged his jacket on. I looked up. He looked down. 

“Chinese,” he said, as I said, “Chinese for takeaway?” and we both paused. Then he clicked his fingers, pointing at me, saying, “Chinese it is.” 

Then he left. 

My back began to throb about five minutes after he left. I could see the painkillers that Marla had left, at the opposite side of the table. I reached out. My reach was five inches too short. Groaning, I sat back. That brief exertion had hurt. It wasn’t long until Tyler got back, and the second he walked in, I asked for the pills. He tossed them to me and I gratefully chewed some. 

He wasn’t that bad, really. Tyler Durden could be a decent guy.


End file.
